The Man Standing By the Water's Side
by vivax
Summary: One day I said to my friend, "Remember when Jesus asked Peter the three types of Greek loves? Philio, agape and eros? Eros being the romantic and sensual one?" And that is how "Jeter" Jesus and Peter, was born. This fic was made on road trip when I promised my friend I would write a Jeter fic for her. To say the least, I have one item off my bucket list: writing Bible fanfiction
Who knew the man standing by the water's side would change my life?

I could feel someone watching me.

My brother, Andrew, and I had gone through a whole day of laborious work. Pushing that unsettling feeling aside, I focused on the labor. The sun beat upon our foreheads dripping with sweat. We go through the whole day working the nets, scraping our hands, bending our backs over for nothing.

Andrew stopped his work and peered over my shoulder. Slightly irritated I growled, "Andrew why are you sto-" He cut me off by pointing to the other side of the boat. Exactly where my unsettling feeling of being watched originated.

"Look, that man by the shore. He's staring right at us." Gripping the net in my hands harder and I turned, and there he was.

My heart skipped a beat. He was staring straight at me.

He opened his mouth, and we saw. We were miles away but we heard and saw what he was doing. His voice felt like it was right next to me. His breath on my neck.

"Come. Drop your nets and follow me," he said.

His voice is warm, sweet, utterly inviting. I want to hear more of it. I have to go to him, some way and some how.

"Andrew, could you hear him right next to you?" I asked. My brother was stricken with awe. "Yes," he replied breathlessly.

With intensity, I locked my eyes with my brother, "We have to go." Dropping the net, I lunged myself to the edge of the boat. Andrew yelled, "Simon!"

We don't know what came over us or what was awaiting us but we followed.

...

Jesus. That was his name. The name of the man who had changed my life.

"My Lord, where are we going?" I asked. Jesus bid me to follow him into the fields. Into nature on a beautiful day.

My master smiled warmly at me, and continued his walk. I take a quick inhale of breath. My face is flushing and I can't breathe. He has the most beautiful smile. I stare down to the ground, unable to meet the back of his head.

On the top of a hill, Jesus stopped. Slowly, he turned to me. He stares into my eyes, scrutinizing my soul.

"Peter," he said warmly.

I'm breathless, I can't help it. This man is extraordinary, beyond compare. His voice and eyes pull me in. However, I must restrain myself.

I correct him, "My Lord, my name is Simon." He raises his right hand to the incline of my jaw, resting the other hand to support my back. I can't function. My master is holding me-cradling me even.

With a gentle force, he raises my face towards his.

"Simon," he says, his voice dripping with sweetness, "look at me." I muster brittle courage to my master. My voice fails me. "Yes, my Lord?"

"You know the origin of names, do you not?" He asks. A question most viable. My whisper arises to a somewhat normal volume. "Of course, my Lord."

His eyelids close slightly to make his eyes half-lidded. "Then Simon, what does the word 'petra' mean?"

It's hard to answer when your heart is thumping so loudly in your chest. "It's Greek, my Lord," I stammer, "for 'rock.'"

He smiles and releases me. I gasp at the absence of his hands, his warmth, his presence against mine.

He places his hand on my shoulder. "Simon, I call you Peter, for you will be the foundation of my Church."

His hand comes to my cheek. My heart skips many beats.

"Be the shepherd for my people, Simon. Hold the keys to heaven, and sit at my right hand."

I'm entrapped. Can't escape.

"Yes, I will." I reply with fortitude.

He comes closer to my face, our foreheads touching and lips inches away. "Peter, you will be from now on."

Again he releases me once more. But I know we will not return to such a state.

He turns to walk down the hill. I follow.

...

I wake up to a jolt. I swing my head around, there are bodies everywhere.

I calm down. They're all sleeping. I forgot. Jesus brought his most trusted to the garden of Gethsemane. We were suppose to be praying with him, but we fell asleep.

I spot Jesus, singled out below a tree. He's praying intensely.

He's bleeding.

I rush to my master, taking note and avoiding the sleeping bodies of my fellow companions. I don't have a cloth to wipe the blood, but my hands will suffice.

"Master," I whisper worriedly, "you're bleeding." I wipe the blood drops acting as sweat off his forehead with gentleness. As he would to me.

"Peter," he chokes. He's been awake for God knows how many hours. Alone. He said his hour is near. Someone is going to betray Him. Is that why he's bleeding?

I kneel in front of him. I wipe of the rest of the drops of blood. I cradle his face in my hands. His eyes are glass, and near to tears. I've never seen my Lord so weak and vulnerable.

"My Lord," I say, "what has happened in these hours without us?" He sighs, while bringing his hands to my wrists. He clutches them like they're the only things that matter in this world.

He chokes on his breath and regains himself. He closes his eyes and snugs his head into my hands.

"I've been praying to my father." I see light reflection forming around the bottom of his eyes. "Asking him," he inhales deeply, "to take away this cup if possible."

I don't understand what cup he's talking about. Several thoughts run through my head. The cup from dinner he shared wine with us, cup that the Romans drink out of, a cup, some cup. I can't fully comprehend what he's saying. I do know one thing, he needs someone.

"Jesus Christ," I say firmly, "Son of God." He slowly opens his eyes and his gaze lays upon me. "Yes?" He answers.

My heart quickens its pace. "You of all people can accomplish what your Father is asking of you." My thumbs stroke his cheek to comfort him. I crumble from my own words.

"You are the most amazing person on this whole entire Earth. Your strength and fortitude are boundless. From the miracles you performed to the little things you have done, there is nothing that you, Jesus of Nazareth, cannot do."

I hope I said what needed to be said. My body is reacting for me. I'm flushing for those were my true feelings of the man who changed my life.

Wetness drops on my hands. Jesus inhales deeply and takes my hands away from his face and into his lap. He is warm and gentle, like always.

"My Father can forgive this one trespass," he says quietly.

He grips my hands in his lap. Confused I question, "Lord, what do you mea-" In swift motions, in less than a second my lips are met in a warm loving meeting. This surpasses all that I've ever dreamed or known.

The heat of his skin, the taste of salt from the sweat, the scent of my master-all far too much for me. For this was happening. In time, in space, in reality.

Finally he released from me. I whimpered at the absence of his being from mine. _Come back._ The only two words that fill my vacant mind.

He smiles painfully, "You must go back, Simon Peter."

I couldn't accept this. Not what he will be going through. Not when my dreams and desires have been fulfilled.

I went to raise my arms around him to embrace him and stop him but in mere seconds-"Sleep, Peter."

Blackness of my dreams greeted me once more.

...

This is the third time he has appeared to us, his disciples. Eating breakfast with Jesus. My master resurrected.

"Peter, come with me," he said. I followed.

This man whom I know is my Lord and master turns to me. He smiles with pain. For I denied him three times.

"Simon son of John," he began. I winced. He's using my full name given to me at birth. "Do you love me more than these?" He used agape, the unconditional love. No doubt in my mind, that what I said is true.

"Yes, Lord," I said truthfully and with passion. I smile with tears in my eyes. I feel the betrayal and cowardice I show on my sleeve. I fled at his death and hid. I denied him three times. I denied him perfectly. "You know that I love you."

He said closing his eyes. "Feed my lambs." I nod vigorously, accepting my role as leader.

My master spoke a second time, surprising me. Again he said, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" This time using phileo, for love. Brotherly and friendly love. With fortitude I reply to him, "Yes, Lord, you know that I love you."

He smiles at the ground and turns away from me. "Take care of my sheep."

He asks again. And for the third time. Almost like a judgement. "Simon son of John, do you love me?" Tears spring from my eyes. He used eros for love. This love is eros, for sensual love. I know this is a test, and I cannot come to terms for my own selfish betrayal. I shake my head and wipe off my tears. I go to the stranger in front of me, and turn him around. I cradle his face in my hands.

I say with a smile, "Lord, you know all things."

Feelings bursting out of my heart. I hold him like he is the only one. He is the only one right here, right now.

I kiss him deeply, and I want him to see stars. "You know that I love you," tears well up in my eyes again, for I know this may be our last time together.

Jesus kisses me back with the same comforting heat and intensity. Smiling and convinced he says, "Feed my sheep."

We come to an embrace, and hug like it is the last. We do because it is.


End file.
